by H M Sealey
Baraq makes himself more comfortable in his chair.
“You’re threatening a girl with torture. I’m not sure I’m the savage.”
Kit steps forward, takes my arm and hauls me to my feet. He reaches into his pocket, draws out a crumpled handful of notes and throws them at Baraq with scorn.
“Just go. Tell Mahmud I’m glad he still knows to play ball.”
Baraq stands up slowly. He’s taller than Kit although I don’t know if he’s any stronger. Kit grips my arm tightly.
“About that.”
“What?”
Baraq moves so swiftly I squeal. There’s a knife in his hand, not a little penkinfe, but a great big knife that shoots out of a wooden handle. A thick slice of sharpened steel. I had no idea he had a knife; I suppose those robes could hide one easily through. He doesn’t speak, just lunges at Kit, thrusting the knife hard towards his chest.
Kit shoves me aside and somehow manages to twist away from Baraq’s assault, he winces as the knife cuts him, but I don’t think it goes deep, not deep enough to stop him retaliating.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Solving a problem.”
There’s blood on Kit’s shirt, he clutches the wound for a moment. Baraq, undeterred by failure, attacks a second time but this time Kit’s ready. His fist flies into Baraq’s jaw and a mouthful of blood explodes from his lips.
Baraq recovers quickly, blood on his face and mouth, but Kit launches himself at the older man, gripping the wrist with the knife and driving his fist into Baraq’s stomach and chest. With a horrible crash, the two of them overbalance onto the coffee table and then onto the floor, Kit wrestling Baraq for the weapon.
I pull myself down, behind one of the chairs and watch. I don’t know how to help. I don’t even know whose side I should be on.
I turn my face as Kit’s fist smashes into Baraq’s jaw for a second time, and when I pluck up the courage to look again, he’s succeeded in prising Baraq’s knife from his hand and he jumps up. With a horrible thud he kicks Baraq hard in the ribcage and I jump at the impact. Then Kit crouches down low and presses the knife against Baraq’s throat.
“Whose idea was this then?” He asks, his words as sharp as the knife. “Did Mahmud put you up to it? I’ll see he regrets it.”
A little blood drips from Baraq’s mouth but he doesn’t answer.
“Come on.” Kit’s tone is threatening. “I really don’t mind slitting your throat.”
“Like….you slit Tariq ibn-Jack’s throat?” Baraq asks.
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Infection did…..he’s dead now.”
Kit clearly doesn’t care. “Savages need putting down.”
“That’s...what I was here to do.”
Kit strikes Baraq hard across the face.
“This is the Border. Nobody’s going to care if I kill you in self defence.”
“Please don’t!” I climb to my feet. “Please don’t hurt him.” I’ve lost one father today. I’m not sure I could lose another. Even if I don’t like Baraq much, he’s my only connection to my past.
“This savage just tried to gut me!”
“He’s not a savage! He’s a good man.”
Kit’s eyes flicker, snake-like, in my direction.
“I intend to send a message to Mahmud carved into his corpse.”
“Stop it!” I scramble over the chair and leap at Kit, grappling with the arm that holds the knife, pulling it away from Baraq. “You can’t just kill someone!”
Kit hits me so hard I see stars and fall backwards, over one of the chairs.
“I can do anything I damn well want here! There’s no law.” He says, before he raises the knife and plunges it down into Baraq’s chest.
~
~ Twenty-Seven ~
Josh
We travel in bodybags, which is as disgusting as it is claustrophobic. I have no idea where we’re going but River is frightened. I try to doze as we rattle along in the back of a van, crushed in with genuine dead bodies, barely able to breathe or see. I feel as if I might die in here.
As I move I wonder whether I can live this new life, or whether I want to. Then I remember Diana Lamont and the callous way she authorises selling those who chose to die, and the way she managed to turn River’s exposé into positive publicity. My brain feels as if it’s turned to mush. I wish I’d let Baraq take me out of the country. I’d be on my way to a new, safe life now, instead of posing as a corpse.
Finally I feel my bag flung onto a hard floor so forcefully it’s all I can do not to gasp as the impact winds me. Voices pass over my head and I remain motionless, wishing I could fall asleep and wake up – well, I don’t know where I wish I could wake up. To erase the last twenty years and find myself back home with mum and dad and El is my heart’s desire but even allowing myself to imagine that hurts too much.
A door opens and closes and a pair of unhurried feet tap across the floor. Then the bag is unzipped and I find myself staring into a pair of unfamiliar eyes on an unfamiliar face.
“Pleasant trip?” The voice asks without any humour at all.
~
Missy
“Good afternoon Gentlemen, Madam. Welcome to Zebedee Jourdete’s. Whatever your needs, I can supply them.”
Zeb beamed at Dai, Alaia and Missy and beckoned them through the big front door.
“Sorry to intrude like this.” Dai said. Zeb waved him away.
“I recognised you from the auction Mr. Kimura. My home is always open to potential buyers.”
They crossed the threshold and stood in the big, airy hallway, admiring the oil paintings in their over-ornate frames.
“Actually,” Dai seized his opportunity. “I was just wondering if you might know of another chap who was there the night of the action. Old, white hair, glasses.”
“I’m afraid my customers like confidentiality Mr. Kimura. I’m sure you understand.” He clapped his hands together. “So, would you like to see a little of the merchandise?”
Dai gave a brief nod. Seeing the merchandise was the last thing he wanted to do. He wasn’t sure whether he could remain calm if confronted by people stolen from their homes and forced into slavery.
“This way then.” Zeb began to lead the way, then he turned and stopped. “Oh, just one thing, I must insist the lady removes her veil.”
Beneath her niqab Missy trembled, it was not long since she had found herself a prisoner in this house.
“It is haraam.” Alaia said simply.
“Yes, I understand your superstitions, but you’re not in the BSI now, you’re in my house, and for security reasons, anyone entering these premises must show their face. I’m sure you understand.”
Alaia stepped forwards slightly. “And I’m sure you’ll understand that my sister is unable to show her face to a strange man. I can vouch for her.”
Zeb laughed. “I’m sure you can, but unfortunately, here a woman is not merely property of the man she is with.”
“Mr. Jourdete, you sell slaves. How much more property could the women here be?”
“I like to make a distinction between slaves legally purchased and women. I know there isn’t such a distinction in your country.”
“My sister will remain veiled.” Alaia insisted.
“Then I cannot allow her to remain on my property.”
“Then I cannot purchase any of your merchandise.” Alaia said, meeting his gaze and holding it. Zeb was a greedy man, he would not want to lose a potential sale.
He scowled at Missy, then rolled his eyes. “I suppose I could make an exception.”
They followed Zeb along the hallway Missy recognised and to a large, solid looking door. Everything inside Missy was screaming, every instinct trying to drive her far away from this man and his evil business.
“Nice house.” Dai commented.
“Thank you.” Zeb replied. “It’s built on an old nuclear bunker. There are dozens of rooms down here, completely esca
pe-proof.”
“How many slaves d’you keep down here?”
“At the moment? About forty-five.”
“Dai whistled. “That’s a fair number. How do you keep them from running?”
Zeb shrugged. “Plenty of them try. We usually make an example of one of them. That works. We keep them restrained though. They soon learn their place.”
“I see.” Dai rarely wanted to punch people, but he wanted to punch this man right now. “Where do you get them all from?”
They began to descend into the cellars that Missy knew and hated, even the familiar smell caused her to panic.
“Ah, now I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to reveal my sources. All my girls come to me legally.”
“Just girls?” Alaia asked?
“Are you interested in men? I can supply men too. Very popular for factory work or manual labour. My girls sell for a higher price of course, there’s greater demand for them. Funny really, if you look at the media in Old Britain you’d swear ninety percent of the population was gay, but it’s still men who buy girls.”
He paused in a solid, concrete corridor. “So, gentlemen, tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll see what I can do.”
There was a sudden scream somewhere beyond one of the doors and then the muffled sound of sobbing. Nicky emerged from one of the locked rooms and slammed the door behind her. In her hand she carried a towel and a first-aid-kit. She saw Zeb and gave him a filthy look.
“Infection’s set in.” She snapped. “I warned you it would. I wish you’d stop ordering the girls cut Zeb.”
Alaia had heard that word crowing up, cut. She knew it meant far more than a nick with a knife and she looked at Nicky.
“You circumcise them?”
“Zeb does, if they piss him off. It never heals properly.”
“A lot of girls die from it.” Alaia said, grateful that her own parents had refused to subject their daughter to what they both considered a barbaric practice. Alaia though, was in the minority.
Nicky gave Zeb another poisonous look. “I’ve got a girl screaming in pain in there. She’s never going to be much use to anyone unless she heals. Still, I’m keeping the wound as clean as I can. She might pull through.”
Alaia was becoming disturbed by this. “You torture these girls?”
“Not if they behave, no.”
“It’s always the same isn’t it?” Alaia shook her head, seeking to contain her anger. “It’s the woman’s fault. It’s something they did. They didn’t behave. They didn’t cover their faces, they went out alone. Why is it always the woman’s fault?”
Dai gave her a swift look of caution.
Zeb raised an eyebrow. “You’re on the wrong side of the border with ideas like that.”
“Yes.” Alaia agreed. “Maybe I am.”
“So,” Zeb clapped his hands together. “Shall we have a look at some of the girls then?”
The girl screamed again, although this time her cry was weaker. The sound was familiar to Alaia, she had heard it before, in other houses when daughters were healing after their own mutilation.
“I want to see her.” She said.
“What? Who?”
“The girl you’ve cut.”
“Right, you want a cut girl? I can have any of them cut for you if you like.”
“I don’t like, no. I want to see her.”
Zeb raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Why do you want to see her?”
“I’m a….medical student.” Alaia lied.
“We have our own doctor.”
But Alaia was too angry now even to see the warning in Dai’s eyes.
“In my people,” She said in a cold, tight voice, “When this is done, it’s done with the intention to keep a girl pure and ensure she marries well. With education the practice could be eradicated. My family have never agreed with it and neither have any of the Reformers. But you?” She couldn’t hide the disgust, “you use it as a punishment! For no reason other than to cause extreme pain. That’s far, far sicker than any misinformed traditionalist family fooled into believing this is the best for their daughters.”
Nicky gave a little, smug smile aimed at Zeb. “Told you so Zeb.” She said.
Zeb looked flustered. “I can do what I want with my legal property.” He insisted, trying to maintain his pleasant demeanour. “Now, do you want to look at some of my merchandise or not? I’m a busy man and I don’t have time for games.”
~
Elsie
Kit wipes the knife on his trouser leg and stares down at Baraq in disgust.
“I’ll see Mahmud pays for sending this idiot to try and assassinate me.” He mutters, before turning back towards me. I can’t stop sobbing, I’ve never seen a dead body, not one murdered and still bloody and warm. Now I have nothing left at all.
Kit grabs me by the upper arm and pulls me away from the body.
“I’ve had enough of this.” His voice is a snarl. “It’s about time you answered my questions.”
“You just killed him!”
“In self defence. He tried to kill me first and I’d like to know why.”
He throws me down onto one of the chairs and, to my horror, brings the knife close to my face.
“I want to know everything you know about Family Matters.”
I swallow and try not to focus on the blade.
“If – if you kill me I can’t tell you anything.”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“You killed Tariq ibn-Jack.”
“I missed his jugular. He wasn’t dead.”
“But he got an infection.”
Kit actually chuckles. “One savage more or less. Not my problem.”
“He wasn’t a savage.”
“All Muslims are savages.”
“No they’re not! They just have different values. Baraq was a better, kinder man than you’ll ever be.”
He presses down on the knife and I feel it prick my cheek. “I’m warning you Elsie, I’m running out of patience. Now, you were raised by Barbara Kessler. She must have had contacts, friends. Who did she see?”
“I don’t know. She kept herself to herself.”
“That’s a lie Elsie.” Suddenly he grabs hold of my shirt and hauls me up to his face. “The man who runs this place knows how to hurt his slaves Elsie. Shall we go down to his cellars and find something that will make you talk?”
He pulls me to my feet and, still clutching my arm, pushes me to the door. “Come on. Do you remember being branded? I can make it much worse than that.”
He shoves open the door, dragging me beside him. To my great surprise we walk into Asim who is standing at the foot of the stairs looking pale and frightened.
“What’re you doing here!” Kit snaps. “I told you to wait upstairs.”
Why is Asim here? His uncle’s body is sprawled on the floor of the room behind me and he doesn’t know?
“Asim!” I cry out on desperation. “Baraq! He’s dead. This man just killed him! You have to get the police -”
Kit’s response is to clap his hand over my face.,
“What part of there’s no law here didn’t you understand? No wonder our kids are stupid with teachers like you.”
Asim pushes past us into the room. I hear him give a sharp, horrified gasp.
“U – uncle Baraq!” The gasp becomes louder, more painful. “Uncle Baraq!”
Kit, still with his hand clasped over my mouth and nose so I can barely breathe, stands in the doorway. Asim is on his knees, crouched over his uncle’s body.
“So you two know each-other?” Kit asks, just as if he hasn’t murdered a man, just as if we’re making polite small talk at a party.
I nod and make a muffled noise until he lets me go and I reel away from him, gasping in mouthfuls of air.
“I remember that man now.” Kit points the knife at Baraq’s body. “He was there at the auction. Who was he?”
“My uncle!” Asim sobs.
“I don’t mean
that.” Kit’s eyes become flat and empty, I think he’s trying to fit jigsaw pieces into a picture in his head.
“He’s just a man.” I tell him. “A man who loved his family.”
“He didn’t love them much if he was at an illegal auction looking to buy slave girls. All those savages are the same, if they’re not out raping, they’re out killing each-other.”
Asim turns his head and his eyes are angry.
“He wasn’t there to buy anyone!” Asim throws those words out, there’s clear accusation there.
“So what was he there to do?” Kit raises an eyebrow. “Attending one of those things carries a risk. He must have thought the risk was worth it.” He regards us both with cold interest. “I think there’s something someone’s not telling me.” Now he focuses on Asim. “You called me about Family Matters. What’s your information?”
Asim called him? I turn my head so I can see the boy. He’s only about thirteen or fourteen, just a child. Why would be betray his family?
Asim opens his mouth but doesn’t answer. Kit’s growing impatient.
“Come on boy. You wanted to trade information for safe passage to the Border and quite frankly I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to live amongst primitives either. I’ve done my bit. My uncle can probably find you a job if you want one.” He steps forward, the knife in his hand. “Now, what do you have to tell me?”
A huge burst of anger swells up inside me. Asim was going to betray his own uncle! I remember that Asim was sitting at Kit’s table the whole night. Indignation fills my heart and I want to scream. Instead I just cry.
“You...you traitor Asim!” I shout. “You were going to betray your own Uncle! Baraq was a good man, not a terrorist. He just wanted to help families. How could you give him up just so you can come and live in this horrible place!”
Asim stares at me, eyes so wide they make him appear younger than he is. Kit, I notice, now has his eyes fixed on me.
“So our savage here is involved in Family Matters is he? Are you seriously telling me it operates in the BSI too?”
He marches to Baraq and kicks him with his toe, as if making sure he’s really dead. I’m shaking so badly I feel close to fainting and Asim still stares at me as if I’ve just said something terrible.